


Fluff

by pocketmumbles (livelikejack)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelikejack/pseuds/pocketmumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Prompt: "domestic au involving a marshmellow gun war"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Derek steps into the dark house, creeping across the wooden floors with bare feet. His jacket is already discarded by the door – too loose, too much noise, and he’s already at a disadvantage, all he can rely on is his stealth. He grips his pump-action shotgun close – he’s grateful for Braeden’s trip to the shooting range earlier in the week, now – and wills his heart to calm down. He needs to remember his training, needs to call on everything that Allison ever taught him if he has any chance of finding her again. He swallows dryly, remembering the note he’d found next to the gun, the note that changed their quiet evening forever.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Loser cooks dinner.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fluff

**Author's Note:**

> [From my tumblr.](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/99010483401/domestic-au-involving-a-marshmellow-gun-war) (Click through and scroll to the bottom for images of the marshmallow weaponry)
> 
> Set in some nebulous future AU where no one is dead or in France or randomly nonexistent.

Derek steps into the dark house, creeping across the wooden floors with bare feet. His jacket is already discarded by the door – too loose, too much noise, and he’s already at a disadvantage, all he can rely on is his stealth. He grips his pump-action shotgun close – he’s grateful for Braeden’s trip to the shooting range earlier in the week, now – and wills his heart to calm down. He needs to remember his training, needs to call on everything that Allison ever taught him if he has any chance of finding her again. He swallows dryly, remembering the note he’d found next to the gun, the note that changed their quiet evening forever.

_Loser cooks dinner._

He can’t carry the extra ammo with him – there’s nowhere to stow the bag, and plastic crinkles so loudly – so he loads his gun and pops the leftover ammo into his mouth. Damn, marshmallows are delicious.

Derek peers down the dark hallway, careful to not let his eyes shift. They’d help him see better, but then glow would give him away. He follows the scent of Allison’s perfume to the living room – but that’s open space, he’d be a sitting duck for whatever trap lays in wait. And her perfume wafts from the kitchen, the bathroom, up the stairs – it’s been sprayed _everywhere_. He tries to ignore it and focus on her shampoo instead, mentally cursing his own cologne giving him away.

A box in the kitchen falls. He freezes, flattening against the wall, and then Allison bursts into the hallway with her rifle aimed square at his chest.

He ducks as a stream of marshmallows fly, rolling instinctively and taking cover behind the living room couch. Allison dives for the coffee table, turning it on its side just in time to block Derek’s own shots. “You got further than I thought you would,” she calls. “Didn’t fall for the perfume?”

“Who am I, _Isaac?_ ”

Her head pops up from the coffee table to glare at him. “He’s getting a lot better!” she says, then ducks with a yelp as Derek shoots a marshmallow at her. “Oh, I see how it is, Hale. You wanna play dirty?”

He knows he’s digging his own grave, but – “Bring it, Argent,” he calls, reaching for a throw pillow.

Every single light in the house flicks on. No, actually, every electrical appliance. The TV blares to life, along with the ceiling fan and kitchen blender. Derek shuts his eyes against the glare, shielding his body with the pillow as he runs for the stairs. Allison curses behind him as she runs out of marshmallows. He leaps the first half, spinning on the landing and firing marshmallows down at Allison. She flings herself at the wall closet, pulling the door open and ducking behind it until they both hear a dry click.

Allison pokes her head around. “Empty?” she asks sweetly.

He drops his shotgun. “So are you.”

She levels her rifle at him, and he can see one last marshmallow down the sight of its barrel. “Always have a spare,” she says, and fires.

He’s completely exposed. He can’t dodge fast enough, not on the narrow landing, not under her calculating aim, so his only option is – he bends his knees as she fires, catching the marshmallow in his mouth. Allison’s own mouth drops open, eyes indignantly wide. “No fair!”

“Dodgeball rules!” Derek says cheerfully around the marshmallow. He swallows. “Truce?” Allison reaches back into the closet and pulls out a double-barrel gun and another bag of marshmallows. “Aw, no fair.”

“There’s three more weapons in the house,” Allison says, grinning. “Good luck finding them.” She loads her first marshmallows, and Derek darts up the rest of the stairs.

The alarm blares in their bedroom, and music plays from the bathroom radio, but there’s some sort of static hissing from…the linen closet. It makes his ears itch, makes him want to run away, so there must be – he throws the door open and crows in triumph, loading the crossbow quickly. He’ll question why marshmallow weaponry manufacturers made a _crossbow_ later. The back of his neck prickles, and he jumps to the side as a marshmallow hits the wall where his head had been moments before.

“I know, right?” Allison says, shooting her way up the stairs. “I’m guessing Daryl Dixon made it cool again.”

Derek flattens against the wall until she pauses to reload. “There is no _again_ ,” he says, shooting a stream of marshmallows at her and sending her ducking back down the stairs. “The crossbow has always been lame.”

“And yet you’re using it,” she calls.

“Not like I have much choice,” he calls back. Its barrel is much smaller than the shotgun, and despite having higher ground, he has to hide more from Allison’s dual missiles and runs out of ammo faster. He slides the empty crossbow into Allison’s feet and runs for the bathroom. “See, this is why no one likes the crossbow!”

Allison’s last shot bounces off the cabinet door that he hurriedly flings open, and she drops the gun with a grimace. They stare at each other for a moment, unarmed and fully capable of calling it a day, and then Derek spins to unlock the window as Allison dashes away.

“Don’t you dare, Hale!” she calls, kicking the door open as his pants drop to the floor. “Oh, do _not_.”

Derek pauses, glancing over his shoulder at the plastic bow aimed for the center of his triskelion. “You’re not gonna make it,” Allison says. “I want steak for dinner.”

Derek smirks. “One more weapon left, huh?”

“Don’t even try, Derek.”

“It’s not over, yet,” he says, and leaps through the window as he shifts into his wolf form. His hands land on the roof tiles, sliding as they morph into paws, and his hind legs tumble after him marshmallow-free. She aimed down instead of up, just like he’d hoped. He dodges a few more marshmallows she aims out the window, and leaps nimbly onto the higher roof.

He can smell marshmallows all throughout the house, now, but he needs to find a concentrated pile of them, wrapped in plastic, probably hidden under some other scent…Derek vaults off the roof, swinging him through the bedroom window and pulling the last gun and bag of marshmallows out of their laundry basket.

Three identical heartbeats thud from different parts of the house, now, and he creeps carefully out of the bedroom as he tries to tell the real from the recordings. None of the heartbeats come from the nearby rooms, and he glances over the second floor railing before hurling down their hardback copy of the fifth Harry Potter book. A heartbeat jolts as the thud echoes through the house, and he chases it down, leaping down the stairs throwing open the door to the guest bedroom.

Her first shots fly over his shoulder as he drops to the floor, and he leaps in front of the range of her bow until he can grab the barrel and push her last few shots to the side. “I win,” he says, pressing his own gun firmly under her jaw.

Allison’s eyes flick down his body. “Didn’t even stop to put on some pants, huh?”

“And give you more time to plan a trap? C’mon, I know you better than that.” He leans in for a kiss. “And I want tacos for dinner.”

“It’s not over, yet.”

Derek pulls the trigger of his gun, and a marshmallow bounces off her chin. “There. I win.”

Allison pouts. “Fine.” She pulls her dress over her head, flinging it into the corner before tugging Derek down for a kiss. He follows her as she steps back, hands falling to her bare hips as she wraps her arms around his neck. “You know me, though,” she says, nipping at his jaw. “I’m a sore loser.”

Derek pulls back, noticing too late the trigger in her hand and the gallon-sized bucket she slides forward with her foot. “Aw, _come on_ ,” he groans, and then marshmallow fluff explodes all over them.

 

“These steak tacos are _awesome_ , guys,” Liam says happily, cramming an entire taco into his mouth. “Thanks for making dinner!”

“Well, it was our turn, wasn’t it?” Derek says, raising an amused eyebrow at Allison. She scoots closer, kissing the side of his jaw as his arm curls around her waist. “Surprise training,” she murmurs. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“And you really didn’t want to cook dinner,” Derek murmurs back. “C’mon, I know you better than that.” She wrinkles her nose at him, and he laughs before leaning in for another kiss.

“Okay, I’m gonna go ahead and say it,” Stiles says. They all turn to look at him. “Allison, you have white gunk stuck in your hair.”

“That’s marshmallow, Stiles,” Scott says, not even bothering to look up from assembling another taco for Kira.

“Marshmallow _fluff_ , more specifically,” Lydia adds.

Erica makes a face. “What the hell is marshmallow _fluff?_ ”

“Only the best thing ever!” Malia exclaims. “It’s like marshmallows, but _spreadable_.” She frowns at the confused looks around the living room. “What, none of you had fluffernutters when you were kids?”

“So Allison has _spreadable_ marshmallow in her hair,” Stiles says. He squints between them. “You know what, I don’t even want to know.”

Allison laughs. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, no. Please stop talking. You’re just making it worse.”

“Well, that explains why I sat on this earlier,” Isaac says, pulling a marshmallow out from underneath him. He shrugs and pops it into his mouth. “Dude,” Boyd says, making a face. “You don’t know where that’s been.”

“It’s been underneath my butt, who cares.”

Allison tucks her head under Derek’s chin as the pack squabbles and Scott half-heartedly attempts to keep the peace. “What’s a fluffernutter?” she asks.

“Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich,” Derek says. “I didn’t find out about them until I moved to New York.” He doesn’t ask her why she never knew about them, despite spending a lot of her own childhood moving around the region. Instead, he says, “If you’ve got any more of that fluff, I’ll make you one.”

She reaches over and winds their fingers together. “You’re not sick of marshmallows by now?”

He kisses the tip of her nose. “Never.”

Allison sits up with grin. “Good. Because first, I wanna try the fluffernutter thing, and then we’re gonna find out just how spreadable that fluff is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Daryl Dixon is Norman Reedus from The Walking Dead, aka the dude with the crossbow and the best part of The Walking Dead before Michonne showed up. (Or, at least, he was before I stopped watching mid-S4.) 
> 
> In my experience as a Californian who lived in the Northeast for a few years, the fluffernutter is a Northeast/East Coast thing. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong; I’ve never seen it on the West Coast, though. (I may have discovered it my sophomore year of college and then gone on a semester-long binge of the stuff while my East Coast roommates shook their heads at me like, “Dude, you need help.”)
> 
>  
> 
> [Come say hi!](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/)


End file.
